


When I Stop

by fitz_y



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Future Fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-30
Updated: 2010-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:29:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitz_y/pseuds/fitz_y
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year has passed since Morgana planted the first mandrake root. Merlin never discovered it</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I Stop

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://netgirl-y2k.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**netgirl_y2k**](http://netgirl-y2k.dreamwidth.org/) for the initial read through!

Arthur had never thought about how it would end.

But if he had, he would never have foreseen it like this.

Uther’s face pallid, eyes sunken, breath wheezing, his body reduced to a skeletal frame, dwarfed by the wall-sized headboard and weighty maroon drapes.

Uther had lived as a great warrior, and he deserved to die like one: bloodily, swiftly, honorably.

Not this extended visitation to the land of the dead, not this wasting sickness spun of dreams, not this sluggish caving in of his mind.

Not by self-starvation, not by feeding ghosts.

Arthur placed a palm on his father’s ribbed chest as it rose and fell in a belabored beat. Under the thin skin of his lids, his eyeballs darted back and forth as though reading something inked on his very eyelids.

The irritated skin peeled back and watery green eyes fixed Arthur.

“I killed them all, didn’t I?” he asked with quiet calm.

Arthur leaned forward, catching a scent of sour breath, seeing the flaking loose skin under gray hair. He squeezed the bony shoulder under the brocaded nightshirt. The green eyes never left his.

“Yes, father, you did.”

“They’re trying to kill me.”

“They’re gone now.”

“Because I killed them.”

“Yes.”

Uther struggled to sit up, fighting against the thick blankets curled over his legs. Arthur shifted to haul him up by sweaty armpits—still heavy despite his frailty.

“All of them,” he mumbled, no longer looking at Arthur but gazing off to the side, eyes glassy and damp. “My wife.”

“Father, no, you . . .”

“Shhhh.”

The only sound was the rattling of Uther’s breath.

Uther drew his gaze back to Arthur who winced at the unwavering stare.

“Is this funeral cart for me, then?”

“I don’t know.”

He digested Arthur’s answer with a wet smacking sound of his lips.

When he opened his mouth to speak again, his voice was so low that Arthur had to tilt forward to hear.

“And what happens when I stop?”

“I don’t know, father.”

Uther huffed an exhale and echoed, “I don’t know, father.”


End file.
